


This Isn't Home

by sighmonk



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen) Has BPD, Family Issues, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Violence, somewhat happy ending, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:38:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14417844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sighmonk/pseuds/sighmonk
Summary: Connor Murphy has been made fun of and suffered mental health issues for years. His father has never been supportive, usually only making things worse, and when he confronts Connor, telling him he's making everything up for attention, that's kind of the last thing Connor really needed.Evan can help, sure, but Connor is a lot more fragile than he knows.





	This Isn't Home

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Graphic depiction of self-harm. Please do not read if you're in a bad state of mind or if it would tempt you to harm yourself as well, and please stay safe kiddos.

The wasn't that Connor wasn't used to vague and empty threats from his parents - no, quite the opposite, he was very used to them. In fact, he was used to his parents, especially his father, flipping shit on him and telling him everything that was wrong with him (which took a while to get through, so it was often condensed to the go-to insult of  _you're a mistake_ ).

However, getting vague texts from his father, telling him that he was losing his car once he got home, were a bit more concerning, especially when he couldn't exactly remember what he did wrong.

He knew he did a lot of things wrong: it was kind of the only thing he was good at, pissing off his family accidentally. The thoughts swam through his mind, and he tried to force himself to remember what he did this time, but nothing really came to mind. Maybe his father found his weed? But he had made sure to hide it in the drawer in the closet before he went to bed last night, just like he did every night; he didn't need his parents knowing he still smoked. Maybe he was pissed that his grades were slipping? He was missing tests right now thanks to his most recent stint in the hospital - it wasn't his fault there were zeros in the grade-book. He was actually working on getting those fixed, even if they weren't the greatest of grades. At least it was something.

No, Connor couldn't actually think of what he did wrong.

But the moment he walked in the door, he knew he was fucked.

Taking in a delicate breath, Connor stepped further into the house, closing the door with a gentle squeak. The house wasn't quiet like it normally was when he got home, with his sister still at school, father still at work, and mother doing something in the kitchen, not really paying any mind as her troubled child made his way up to his room. No, his mother and father were discussing something in a hushed yet angry tone, and went suddenly quiet as Connor made his way into the room, eyes glued to his father in particular. His eyes were bored, but on the inside, his mind was racing.

Larry stood, taking a deep puff into his chest, before he held out his hand, motioning his fingers towards himself. "Hand me the keys."

Connor couldn't help but clench his teeth, but complied all the same. As long as it wasn't his phone or laptop, he didn't really matter, so putting up a fight was pointless. Pulling the lanyard from his pocket, the boy swung his keys towards his father, who caught them gracelessly as they flew towards him. "Now can you please tell me why you're pissed at me?"

Narrowing his eyes in a way that mirrored Connor too-closely for the boy's liking, Larry stuffed the keys into his pocket, clearing his voice before he began to speak. "Your mother and I are tired of you faking your mental illness, and until you start trying to be happy again, we'll be keeping your car." He sounded bored, like this was just something normal to say.

On the other hand, Connor was speechless. Sure, he'd suspected his parents thought his mental illnesses were fake for some time, as they always told him to just "go on a walk" or some other bullshit, but for them to flagrantly be so callous towards the needs of their own son was enough to made him boil over. The anxiety that had been building inside of him all day suddenly shifted, anger enveloping him as he clenched his his fists together, trying to hold back as he spat back at his father.

"Are you serious?" he shouted, feeling the wild look on his face contort even worse. "Do you really fucking think all the doctors and hospitals I've been to are making up the fact that I have something wrong with my head? You think I'm making this up for attention?"

Larry shrugged carelessly, though it was obvious he was getting angry as well. "And what  _mental illness_ do you have, Connor?"

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, running a hand through his long brown hair as he looked back at the man in front of him. "We've been over this, Larry," Connor hissed. "BPD, depression, and anxiety. I have all the fucking meds to prove it."

"You don't have BPD," Larry said, clenching his teeth. "You're just looking for attention and telling everyone you have mental illnesses is just the way you kids do that."

An incredulous laugh escaped Connor's mouth, and he could feel the tears beginning to form as the anger in his chest began to twist into a sort of desperation: a desperation to be trusted and loved. But he forced his anger forward, and he took a step towards Larry. "You don't fucking know anything, asshole. Just because you don't know anything about mental health doesn't mean it's bullshit," he spat. "The last fucking thing I want is attention. I want to be left alone and to be nothing more than invisible at school - or at home for that matter! Why would I fake an illness that makes me want to kill myself half the time?"

At the, Cynthia jumped up from her spot on the couch, hands clasped together over her chest. "Your father just wants what's best for you, honey," she muttered, a fake smile liking her lips. "I think that if you'd all just calm down, we can talk this -"

"Stay out of it, Cynthia," Larry snapped, narrowed eyes turning in her direction. "This is a conversation between men."

"Don't be a dick to Mom," Connor growled. 

Larry looked back at Connor, taking a moment to observe his shaking form. It took him a second to realize he was crying, but once he did, he found himself smiling with some sort of sick satisfaction. "Connor," he said, voice even. "Let me see your wrists."

Something snapped inside of him, and all the anger and his chest drained in an instant, replacing with only desperation and fear. Showing his arms to anyone was something he had refused to do since he was twelve years old, and now, at eighteen, that was still the case. The only exception was Evan Hansen, who he had gotten incredibly close to and was dating without his parents' knowledge - he was the only one who had seen Connor's arms in the last few years. Even then, it was only when they were in very intimate situations, sexual or not, and he was still very uncomfortable with the idea in general.

But showing the man who pushed him to cutting when he was just a twelve year old boy? Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

"No," Connor said, voice dull.

"Let me see your fucking wrists, Connor," Larry demanded, teeth clenching.

"No."

"Take off your jacket."

"No."

"Connor!"

"Fuck off."

It took him a second to realize it, but Larry was beginning to walk towards him, anger clear on his face as he went to grab his son's neck, which he narrowly missed as Connor twisted away from him. Cynthia shouted something, but neither of them heard as Larry's fist found itself across Connor's face, sending bolts of pain across the skinny boy's cheek.

"Fuck you, old man!" Connor shouted, hurling his fist around only to stop when he saw Zoe walk in the door.

Her eyes were wide as she dropped her guitar case, tears instantly welling in her eyes as she rushed forward, ushering her father away from Connor. "Dad!" she cried, casting a narrow gaze towards her brother. "Did he hurt you?"

"I hurt him?" Connor laughed, his left hand holding the bruising skin on his cheekbone, and it took him a moment to realize the wetness on his fingers were from his tears. "That fucking- he just punched me in the face!"

"Because you're a fucking liar!" Larry shouted.

Connor shorted. "I guess I learned it from you."

"Oh, shove it you emo piece of shit," the older man growled, narrowing his eyebrows.

Again, something inside Connor snapped. It's not like he hadn't heard that insult before: from Jared Kleinman to the average high school student, he'd heard that string of words several times throughout his life, and even used them to joke around when he was with Evan. But coming from someone who was supposed to love him hurt a bit more than normal, even if he knew that his father never truly loved him. Perhaps the confirmation hurt, or maybe he had just grown tired of the insult, but before he realized it, Connor had begun to cry.

Gripping onto his backpack, Connor turned his back on the rest of his family, hurrying upstairs and slamming the door on the shouting trio. He had no idea what they were yelling about, and if he were being honest, he didn't really care. Tossing his satchel onto the ground, the boy found himself making a b-line for his desk, ripping open the drawer and fishing out one of his blades. He made his way to the bathroom, still crying his eyes out as he pulled his jacket off, feeling nothing but disgust as he saw himself in the mirror. He couldn't stand it: the messy brown hair that tangled in his tears, the too-skinny form from his lack of eating, and the endless scars that lined his arms, from his wrists to the top of his shoulders. He hated it, couldn't stand how the scars fucked up any change at a happy future of wearing short sleeves, but at this point, he was too fucked up. He couldn't undo it. He didn't care.

Taking the blade in his hand, he made seven desperate slits along his left wrist, then six on his right, though he felt numb as he dragged the blade along each time. He found himself pushing harder than he normally did, wanting to go deeper, but something stopped him this time, and he settled for what he had; he knew he'd make deeper ones again one day.

While he watched the blood drip onto the sink, he felt the phone in his back pocket ding, and he rinsed off one of his arms so he could grab it. Seeing it was a text from Zoe, he bit back a groan, but read it anyways.

_**Zomo the Homo:** hey, what dad said was pretty fucked up. sorry for sounding like i took his side. old habits die hard._

_**Zomo the Homo:** by the way, you should bounce for tonight.  
_

Connor let out a sigh as he read the second text. Washing off his wrists and wrapping them in a towel, he leaned back against the bathroom counter, trying back rapidly.

_**Me:** and why is that?_

_**Zomo the Homo:** to calm down? get support somewhere else? you know mom and dad won't give it to you. and i'm... yeah.  
_

**_Me:_ ** _i understand, zoe. i'll probably head to evan's. just don't let mom and larry know. thanks for trying._

**_Zomo the Homo:_ ** _np. i'm working on being better._

**_Me:_ ** _so am i_

**_Me:_ ** _thanks man_

Switching back to his messages, Connor clicked on his boyfriend's name, deciding to call instead of message. Evan had said he'd liked calling more, as it was easier to understand what others were saying and whether they were actually being sarcastic or not, which Evan said he had a hard time determining. That was fine with Connor, who was currently not in the mood to move his hands too much, including his fingers.

He didn't have to wait long before Evan picked up.

"Hey Connor," Evan chirped, a cheeriness in his voice. 

"Hey, Ev," Connor breathed, letting a sigh escape his mouth. "Can I, uh, stay the night again?"

Evan took no time in responding. "O-of course!" he said, concern sneaking its way into his voice. "A-are you, uh, okay? You s-sound like you've been crying."

Connor nodded slowly, even though he knew Evan couldn't see it. "Yeah," he confirmed, sniffing harshly. "Shit kinda his the fan when I got home. I really just want to have you hold me and play with my hair and make me forget what happened."

"I'd be m-more than happy to, uh, do th-that," Evan mused, though he couldn't shake the worry in his words. "D-do you want to, uh, talk a-about what happened at all?"

"When I get there," Connor muttered, his voice quiet. "I also need some bandages. Please."

A beat.

"Connor, d-did you..."

"Of course I fucking did, Evan," Connor hissed. He heard the way his boyfriend sucked in an uneasy breath, flinching away from the phone at his harsh words. Taking a breath, he tried his best to calm himself before he spoke again. "I'm sorry, Evan. Yeah, I did, and I need to bandage it. You don't have to watch... I just need to clean myself up."

Evan took a moment to respond. "N-no, I understand. It's, uh, you know h-how that scares me," he said, and Connor hummed in agreement. "W-we have some ban-bandages here. Mom, uh, won't b-be here tonight, s-so you won't have to sneak around."

Connor smiled sadly. God, he loved his boyfriend too much. "Thanks, Evan. You're so perfect."

"D-don't say that," Evan said, a chuckle in his voice. "I'll, uh, see you w-when you get here."

"Sounds good, Evan. Love you."

With that, Connor hung up, looking down to see the blood was beginning to seep through the pale blue washcloth. He flicked in tongue in annoyance, wiping his arms off again in the sink before he backed the few things he actually needed to go to Evan's: tossing his meds and a change of clothes into his backpack. Pulling open his window, he jumped into the tree that was right outside his room, shimmying himself down with ease. It took him a moment to realize that he hadn't closed his window, but he didn't really care.

He was on his way to Evan's - the only place he really felt at home.

The only place he was really loved.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this as a vent fic, as something very similar happened to me today. Of course, I had to change some things up because my life differs from Connor's, but yeah. Remember that you don't always understand someone's mental health, but that to accuse them of faking it when several professionals have confirmed they are actually suffering is a downright fucked up thing to do.
> 
> But yeah. This is really cathartic for me. Also, I tried for a bit of a happy ending, but this isn't really a happy fic.


End file.
